


My Best Dress

by Spicymayomagi



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Cheating, Domestic Violence, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infidelity, Kidnapping, Romance, Short, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spicymayomagi/pseuds/Spicymayomagi
Summary: Hades wants companionship yearlong. Chava cries ruby tears. Life is a sick joke, but at least death is eternal.(A short story, made the best experience if you listen to "My Best Dress" Florence & the Machine.)
Relationships: Hades (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 10





	1. Ruby Tears

Chava was a gift. 

It was a rainy day, not in the conventional way people usually hate, but a sweet one. The water was crisp against her skin, the moss under her toes an emerald green. The river's surface churned almost as perilously as her stomach. Outside of the city walls she walked alone. It was an inclination she'd developed since time immemorial, and so was the reason. Of course, her being her, she couldn't help but strain her brain to. 

There was hardly a time when she could remember when things weren't... well, as they were. Even though there was most definitely a time in which it was as it wasn't. Chava was a gift. If there were a poorer couple in all of Greece, the sky may have soured green. A dirt farmer and a wife with a loss of dowry. But in the way that her mother tells the story, it took nearly 3 days to birth her. Such was the pain that she nearly died. And then, when Chava was finally pushed into this world, she was swept away on a river of little red gems. No one could believe their eyes at the miracle, so much that no one cared if the woman had committed infidelity with some supernatural being(which was the rumor everyone believed). These treasures—each the size of a fingernail—swept from every corner of the room were traded at the market for a luxurious house, fresh clothes, and the dowry that would be given over to Chava's one-day husband. 

Perseus—named after The Perseus, respectively—arranged to have many guests from faraway places stay with them today. No expense spared, the sofas were cut from fragrant pine. Delicacies of every kind littered the tables, and exotic dancers from Magnesia glittered from head to toe. She nibbled her custard while he spoke in good health to others. Then suddenly, he turned to her and said,  
"If only my wife didn't die, I never would have married you." She said nothing and then he slapped her. When she clutched the side of her face the tears started flowing. The rubies became a pile as every guest in the room roared, shaking their goblets with approval. 

"How extraordinary! I've never seen anything like this." 

"What a lucky man you are,"

"She is a rare prize, is she not?" He looked around grinning from ear to ear, so obviously pleased with himself. And Chava sat there, crying enough rubies for each to take home as a souvenir. 

Events similar gave her the sense to know he didn't mean these things that he said. He loved her tears. Already having heard of him before they were married, she knew he was a very wealthy king. He would not marry her for financial aid or even love, but for the prestige of owning something other men only dreamed of. 

Many days she wondered if it were so terribly bad to jump into the river. It must be cool, refreshing. Today, she was really considering it. She didn't know why. The rain seemed more gentle than ever, soothing the ache in her jaw where she'd been struck. A sob stuck in her throat and she felt herself weeping again, her face warm and large painful tears slipping down her cheeks and hardening into something else, as they so often did. The reflection in the river told her as it was, a blotchy faced nobody whose hair was limp with rain. She struck the surface and fell onto her back. She may jump into the river. Most likely today, while she still had such nerve, but it was nice to lie on the grass like this, even if it muddied her arse. This was ordained the last pleasure before she was swept away from all her problems. She curled onto her side, breathing deeply. The wet earth smell cloyed sweetly in her lungs. She once had a habit of playing with mud, and her mother beat her severely for it, but the memory was good. The earth was softer than ever... 

Recline, Chava.  
Lay down and go to sleep, for you are in your mother's womb.  
Gaia, Gaia, Gaia

She had dozed off. But only for a few minutes, she felt. What woke her was the jarring sensation of the ground sinking beneath her. When she opened her eyes she saw 2 shifts of dirt caving in on both sides. She barely let out a scream before she was swallowed into the earth whole.


	2. Cavern

Chava had nothing to describe it to, but because we live in modern day I will. Remember that feeling when you were a kid and you rode an elevator for the first time. I mean when it was shooting downwards, the sinking feeling in your stomach and the urge to buckle your knees. Sleep-disoriented, she couldn't believe she was falling into the earth—the irony that a girl who cries ruby tears but can't believe this predicament isn't lost on me—but she screamed the entire way. In her panic she thought, I'm being buried alive! Because she could feel the dirt around her like in a capsule when she beat it with her fists, and she couldn't hear anything as she shrieked at the top of her lungs. "Someone help me! Let me out, please let me out!" No one came. 

Obviously she wouldn't have been allowed to suffocate in the little cavern, but she didn't know that. When she gave up trying to break free she crouched, pressing a knuckle against her breast to feel such an insane tattoo it seemed impossible that her heart didn't burst. Then her temples. It was hard, too hard to breathe. Her spine felt clammy. Rubies fell into her lap. How could this be? She felt so at peace with herself only minutes ago, now she was desperate not to die. Coward. But she had planned to jump. This part was unprecedented, and to die quietly in the ground wasn't what she'd wanted for herself. Some spirit, maybe, who didn't agree with her motive and maybe even the one who gifted her decided to teach her a lesson. "Lesson learned." She moaned. She quickly decided if she somehow managed to escape the cavern, she'd run straight back to the palace and never pity herself ever again. 

A while later she still squatted away, only she managed to start nodding off. Perhaps this would be for the best. It's dark, it's cool, it's peaceful. Nothing was so troubling down here. Even if she never received her proper burial, this could come close to Elysium if she relaxed enough. The others would wonder where she'd gone, but they'd never find her, of course. Then Perseus would feel so guilty he'd regret ever treating her the way he had. This was a comforting thought. Perfectly lovely, this. She curled into a comfortable position and closed her eyes. 

She was having such good dreams, of a small warm house and a rainy outside, some pleasant music playing and slices of green melon on the table that she was only vaguely aware of a presence that gathered her body into his arms and left the cavern.


	3. The Green Melon

Black sheets, which wrapped her in a cocoon were as soft as water. When she lay there half-awake she believed her dreams had melded together. Another person lay beside her. But the aura was a serene quiet one, so she didn't feel alarmed in the slightest when the figure stroked her hair with long fingers as cool as a statue's. "What are you dreaming, angel?" She couldn't answer the question because she'd already sunk back into sleep. Even then, she couldn't have thought of a good answer. All she knew was that, wrapped in this mystery person's arms she was safe forever. 

A while later Chava was lying there, blank. The abundance of black veils around her made her wonder if she were dead. There was no one here. But she saw little bits of light escaping through the curtains so she reached out to discover the source. An ivory lamp sat on the bedside table. The flame was green, then magenta, and then a little orange. What kind of magic... Immediately she jackknifed into a sitting position. This was not her room. Perseus could never afford decor this lavish, even if he beat a mountain of tears out of her. These sheets were pure silk and the duvet a kind of velvet. There were so many rugs on the floor that they overlapped. Underneath that, the floor was black stone that was even shinier than a mirror. The walls were also stone, she saw, expensive mosaic. Designs etched deep into the surfaces so that they made lovely pictures of birds and lions and fish and giraffes. It must've been made of jewels, as the little scales of the fish glittered. All the furniture, from the dresser to the washstand were all polished wood, only a shade darker than the rest of the decor. More pressingly, there was food on the table. The sight of colorful delicacies made her recall how she hadn't been in the mood to finish her food before. Now her stomach growled ravenously. With slow movements, she crawled out of bed to see even closer. It was a good spread, a whole glazed duck that smelled salty, cheese and nuts and a mug of something. And then fruit, lots of it, from figs to fragrant oranges. Blood-red pomegranates and grapes so plump they looked as if they might burst. And then, there was a platter of melon. A green one, the thin rind pale and the flesh glistening.   
The sight of it made her mouth water. She poked it tentatively. Chilly. She drew back. Perhaps she shouldn't. A woman wasn't smart to take food from strangers, but at the same time... just a little nibble wouldn't do any harm, would it? She couldn't remember the last time she ate a melon. With two hands, she picked up a slice and bit into it.   
As soon as she sunk her teeth in, juice exploded in her mouth. The sensation of the cool flesh practically melting in her mouth made her shake her shoulders with delight. It was without a doubt the best melon she'd ever eaten. And yet she felt a nausea in her stomach as soon as she swallowed. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and when she turned around her spine turned to jelly. There was another person sitting in the chair by the fireplace. A tremor overtook her as she slowly put the melon down. She hadn't even heard them walk in, but they seemed in such comfort that it looked like they'd been sitting there for days. 

And then, when the person—with their ethereal face and ancient eyes—smiled at her with a pained kind of satisfaction. And then they stood up, strode over, and held her by her shoulders with cold hands. As they leaned closer and licked the juice from her lips, she realized the mistake she had made.


	4. Desperation

Chava started off twisting the fringes of her ruined dress, and when they became frayed she itched at her arms and hands. If she stopped for even a moment her teeth clattered. Why, oh why was she so cold? Even though the room she felt confined to was generally warm—the fireplace was lit— she felt an awful chill in her bones that just wouldn't go away. Her head was clammy and the god who stole her away decided, unsurprised, that she had a fever. The many quilts thrown over her didn't help at all, the idea of the soup they promised to send up only serving to create another wave of nausea over her. Buried in blankets, she huddled into herself and tried to make sense of it all. She hadn't been sure who they were. The features of the person were delicate yet stone, but greatly appealing no matter which gender they had been. Then, her, realizing her predicament, knew that it was a he. Hades, Lord of the Dead. And this was the underworld. He had abducted her. What he could possibly want with someone like her, she could only surmise it was her gift. But when he kissed her, she'd never felt anything so soft... A fear pulsed through her of what he was intending to do, but he pulled away. He said something and then that's when she became feverish. None of it seemed to make sense. 

Regardless, the one prevalent thought that went through her was that she had to escape. Even if he acted kind now, she heard stories of the relentless king of the underworld. Most of them, for the heroes, did not end well. But how? He tricked her into eating the forbidden food, and anyways, how could one run from death? She tossed and turned, somehow feeling more sick than she'd ever had in her whole life.   
But she was still alive...   
After some minutes she worked herself from bed, a quilt still wrapped around her. From the window she could see a cliff opposite full of ruins and fire and little smears of white—ghosts, she thought. There was no sunlight, just blackness, and even more at the bottomless cavern below. Perhaps... with fingers that didn't feel like hers, she pressed against the window knob. Click. It eased open with only a slight eerie creak.   
It wasn't as if she hadn't been planning this before, but there was no river here. And to go on in a place as devoid as this made her feel like dying. But then, she already couldn’t leave, so what was the point? Perhaps, in this way, she could escape to another layer of the afterlife. Hadn't she been a good, obedient woman all these years? She deserved this final selfishness. She struggled onto the windowsill, shaking like a leaf, then stood. Fear was an effective drug. Inhaling the damp breeze, she felt a jarring mix of terror and exhilaration. She had her hands raised and then, before another part of her caused her to lose her nerve, jumped.   
Someone screamed and it wasn't her. Pain exploded across her arm and she shrilled, feeling as though the limb would be torn off by the iron grip that kept her from falling to her death. The wind was icy cold now, her eyes watering as she looked up to see the god, his young face frozen in horror. He was the only thing between her and death. He was going to let go...   
Then, with a strength beyond any she felt before, he jerked her up over the windowsill. She landed on the floor with a thud, echoing with an air of finality. She was trapped. He wouldn't let her go. She heard him speaking at her with a distressed voice. "So that's it? You'd rather die than be with me?" He sounded furious. He also sounded like he was on the verge of weeping. It sent a volt of shock through Chava. She had always heard the Lord of the Dead’s name spoken in hushed voices, with dread. Even that was taboo, and the priests teetered between heresy and divinity just from even uttering Hades. That was a testament of a ruthless entity, not this fragile boy who curled on the floor next to her. The idea of it was so appalling she wanted to weep for him too. She waited there for a long minute, waiting for him to lash out, to hit her, or to scream, or, or... something. But it never came. So she sat up, scooted closer and put tentative fingers against his shoulder. He leaned against her. A shiver overtook her, a sob stuck in her throat. 

“I’m sorry.”


	5. The Kiss

He was such a dear boy.   
She didn't trust him completely, it would have been foolish to do so. But he was very much like a child: surprisingly shy, but with an ache to please. It was in such a way that Chava couldn't find any part of herself to dislike him. He showed her many parts of the palace. His study was full of books, and she was surprised at the amount of tragic poems, romantic poems there were. His garden was the biggest she'd ever seen. It was a strange type that seemed as if it were inside a building, the ceiling made of glass. He called it a greenhouse. It was hard to tell if the plants were real or not. Many of them were ones even she couldn't identify, some with golden twigs and gemstone fruits. The leaves glowed. It was blissfully cool inside the place, and the air thick with the smell of ripe honeysuckle. Never had there been a most courteous gentlemen. When he invited her to sit beside him he never laid his hands on her other than the tips of her fingers, softly. He was not much of a talker, that much was clear, but neither was Chava. Instead they lay side by side in the grass and it was easy to enjoy this closeness, this serenity. It came as a shock to Chava that she had never felt so peaceful in her whole life. "It's ever so rare for me to be able to enjoy time to myself, but when I do I like it here. It's so lovely in the winter, I can't wait to show you."

"Thank you, I'd love to see it." 

"It's times like these," he went on after a bit of silence, "that I remember that I'm different from my subjects. As in, I'm not from the underground. Not originally. Most of them... they can't stand the greenhouse. Thanatos complains it's too damp for him.  
But when I leave... I can't explain it. I become the very thing I preside over. A true melancholy." 

"Like the dead." Chava interceded, because she could understand that feeling. Oh, yes, she understood. "You feel as the dead." 

"Yes... that must be it." He looked at her shyly. "You must find me chatty." She shook her head, smiling indulgently. When he looked like that he reminded her of a bashful maiden, but she didn't want to tell him that. They stared at the ceiling of the greenhouse where some unknown source of light showed brilliantly. Somewhere off some kind of bug buzzed around some bushes. A mechanical bird tweeted. When she found herself beginning to get drowsy he turned on his side to face her. Due to some reflex or other she started and blinked at him. A faint healthy pink dusted the tips of his cheeks. "May I kiss you?" A more absurd question never once passed through Chava's ears. Perseus never hesitated to take what he wanted, and now here was the King of the Dead, asking if he might have permission for a kiss. Was there any other answer? 

"Of course you may." She felt the mirthful relieved sigh against her cheek. He propped himself up on his elbows, and when his lips touched hers she'd never felt a softer caress than water. His hands touched her neck, the side of her hair all gently as if she were glass. There was a faint smell of eucalyptus leaves on him, or mint. A clean fragrance. The tip of his tongue swept over the revive of her mouth and for a moment she feared he might try to force his way in, but he drew back, his face dreamy. 

"You taste like melons." She blushed, and when they relaxed in the garden the rest of the afternoon he held her whole hand, rubbing her knuckles as if they were precious things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love an antisocial god who respects women.


End file.
